Some words
deserve a second look.

Apricots, poached with bay. I realise that's a rather small answer after all the architectural suspense. Here, in this bowl—three halves left, which is either enough for a taste or a very ill-equipped still life. I like them properly cold, with the syrup almost bitter. Have one now, if you'd like. Then tomorrow you can ask for something else without having to negotiate with my hopeful face across the linen.

Two spoons. There. I'll even go first, although this is an outrageous restriction on my ability to stare at you. Mm. That's stronger than yesterday. I left the leaf in too long; I like the edge, but I wouldn't give you a bowlful without warning. And yes, I ate the others. Standing here, straight from the fridge. This wasn't a menu waiting for a guest. It was my pudding before I promoted it to supper.

Yes. Use this saucer; if we start dividing fruit over the bowl, I'll become unbearably concerned with the arithmetic. And no fresh batch. Though 'the cupboard' may haunt me when I reach for dessert. Here, I've lifted one out and left most of the syrup behind. You cut it. I want to see whether we can share something you don't entirely like without my turning into a woman who apologises for a bay leaf.

Yes, I'd like that. There, I've eaten my piece; you may safely withdraw your report on the spoons. But give me a direction before I choose shoes wildly unsuitable for your intentions. Around the square, or are you taking me somewhere? You looked very composed when you asked, which I've learned can conceal half an hour of unnecessary planning. I don't require a surprise, Vera. I'd rather hear what you want while you're still standing in my kitchen.

There. Two halves in the fridge, safely beyond my powers of conversational hospitality. I'll fetch your coat. But one practical question before you become an intriguing silhouette: are we going to stand outside this shop, or are you expecting to go in? I can bring sensible shoes without bringing a talent for trespass. You needn't tell me why you had the key tonight. I would like to know what I'm agreeing to do with my feet.

I'd still like to stop. Here, your coat; I won't hold the sleeves open and turn this into a departure from a royal household. But don't put me under instructions to look at your name and somehow fail to wonder. I can keep a question to myself. I can't promise a magnificently incurious face. If we're going together, I'd rather you could tell me 'not that one' than spend the whole pavement protecting me from asking it.

The other sleeve is tucked under the collar. May I? There, free. And yes, I can leave a silence alone. I dislike how promptly I wanted to tell you that doing the accounts couldn't possibly make it your fault. I haven't heard what happened. You'd be perfectly entitled to find that reassuring speech rather lazy. Tomorrow, would you rather stop on the opposite pavement, or stand by the door? That answer I can actually use.

Green. I've been paying devastating attention, despite the distraction of the woman wearing the coat. I'll ask if you want me to, but don't give me a clever password and expect me to know when to use it. If you're telling me something important in figures, I'd like to hear it. How about I ask whether you want to stay or walk on? You choose. And if you stay, I'll stay beside you, without inspecting your arithmetic.

Then I won't fetch paper yet. An unusually restrained performance; do admire it while it lasts. But when you say you asked, what did you actually ask for? You can decline that one. I'm trying to find out whether you want a sentence, a second pair of ears, or simply to get out of my kitchen with your coat on. At present I'm in danger of offering you all three and blocking the door.

I hear it. You wanted it gone, and you offered to wait for a paintbrush that might never appear. I'm not going to scold you for the courtesy; I recognise the technique rather painfully. But I do object to your having to solve all three possible explanations alone before you're allowed to ask again. If I listen tonight, will you let me disagree with you tomorrow? Being decorative beside that door would be a dreadful waste of my shoes.

Half an inch. I should have guessed you were dangerous with a ladder nearby. You're right: I had already put the paintbrush in your hand. Leave it out of mine as well. Tomorrow I'd like you to show me the lettering, if you still want to. And I may like it. Can you bear that? I don't want to stand beside you pretending something is ugly because you've had a painful time beneath it.

I'll try to hear a morning, then. And if I start making a case, you may interrupt before I reach my devastating conclusion. I confess I'm delighted by this extravagant V. You've spent tonight accusing my household objects of theatre while keeping your own flourishes above a shop. Tell me tomorrow, standing where you stood. Or begin here, if you'd rather. I can move away from the doorway without mistaking it for the end of the conversation.

Well, your V has defeated this angle. I can see its ambition and very little of its ending. I'd like to step back two paces—not across the street—and look properly before I deliver the opinion you so rashly requested. Will you come with me? You may say no, but I refuse to compliment lettering I haven't seen merely because its former proprietor looks particularly good beneath it.

Yes, it crowds it. There, I've stepped back and betrayed your painter's confidence by agreeing with him. But I like the way the stroke carries your eye into the rest of the name. I'd keep that movement and give the next letter more room. An expensive opinion, mercifully uncommissioned. And I promoted you without evidence. Sorry. I'll come back beside you now. What did you want to see from the ladder, when there was nothing left to correct?

You realise you've given me something invisible to stare at. A formidable improvement on my usual habits. No, I won't crane any further; the sign has already had quite enough of my chin. But why keep the pencil? I like knowing how something was made, too, yet I'd probably have let him wipe it away. Was it useful to you, knowing it was there, or did you simply like that particular untidy bit?

The table can bear a comparison. I might even enjoy hearing one after supper, when nobody's waiting for me to defend it. But I am delighted, a little. You were remembering something of yours while standing in my kitchen, and I didn't know. I'd like more of that, even when the comparison is unflattering. Shall we stay here or walk on? My neck votes for the river. The rest of me can be persuaded to remain.

What did you think you were agreeing to? I'll ask it while we can still see the end of the street, before the river earns another postponement. There's a bench here, if you'd like to stop. I would. I keep falling half a step behind you on this pavement, and I'd prefer to look at your face without risking an intimate acquaintance with a drainpipe. Was the name meant to tell people what you did there?

A woman who fought for half an inch and an extravagant V had opinions about a window? I shall recover from the shock on this bench. There; you can stand, and I can stop pretending these shoes were selected by a walking club. What was your first display? I want the thing itself, not merely evidence that you possessed imagination. And did you want people to ask for you, or was that the part you agreed to in order to get the window?

I'm surprised by the yellow jug. I'd have given you a very severe white one, and evidently I'd have made a dull window. The ambition doesn't surprise me. I do want to know who kept moving your bowl, though I suspect that question comes with a history we're not sitting down to tonight. Will you sit beside me now? I like hearing you say you were good at it. I'd like to hear what happened the first time someone asked for you.

I'm smiling at you fetching the water. I'd have been tempted to call it a flower jug and wave my hands until everyone forgot about tea. But I'm not awarding you a certificate for resisting my worst habits. Here, the coat's out of your way. Did you replace it with the severe white one I've so unfairly invented, or leave a gap? And when someone asked for you after that, did you still enjoy hearing your name?

Then I'll stay. What kept you from changing it that Thursday? I have several splendid explanations hovering behind my teeth, and none of them has been invited. Start with where you were. Were the things you'd chosen already in the shop? I'm trying to picture you actually reaching for something, rather than arranging a tragic little window in my head. You may confiscate the scenery if I get carried away.

I'm not looking for someone who ordered you about. You can put a tray down of your own accord and still wish you'd picked it up again. But I don't know whether you wished that at lunchtime. Did the invoice need an answer before the window could change, or did finishing it feel better? I ask with some professional embarrassment. I've polished cutlery while a perfectly good supper went cold because polishing had a visible finish.

I disagree with leaving the glasses on the floor all day. There, an opinion with appallingly little glamour. The correction mattered; so did the thing you'd already chosen to do. But I won't pretend I'd have swept in and rearranged your afternoon. I'd probably have admired how indispensable you looked. That's uncomfortable to discover while sitting so attractively beside you. Did anyone ask about the window, or could you leave without being reminded?

No, that was mean. She'd noticed something you'd wanted people to notice, and you made her feel she shouldn't have knocked. I can say that and still want your knee next to mine. You needn't improve the story to keep your place on the bench. But I want to ask a less comfortable question than whether you regretted it. Did she come back the following Thursday? And had you taken the tray off the floor by then?

My knee is staying. Though it reserves the right to disagree with yours. Why did you need them to be a pair? You'd left a gap when the yellow jug disappointed you; you knew a window could survive losing something. Did you want this woman to admire the whole arrangement before she was allowed to take any of it home? Tell me what you were looking at when you said it.

Did you imagine her kitchen badly lit? I recognise the temptation to furnish a stranger's home with crimes against one's taste. But she'd come back after you were sharp with her, and she'd chosen something. That sounds like a second chance you made rather expensive. What did she say about the pair? And before you accuse me of looking severe, I am severe. You've simply arranged to sit on my flattering side.

Water beside her bed. That's a rather good use for a glass you chose well. I wish you'd let her have it. And yes, my imaginary kitchen has been demolished; I deserved the expense. What happened to the apology you'd rehearsed? I don't mean whether it would have saved the sale. You already owed her one before she pointed. Did you ever say it, or did 'thank you' take its place?

All right. No speech for you to deliver, and no imaginary reunion for me to direct. Though I object to being assigned the role of admiring your stationery; I have other talents, several available from this bench. What happened to those cards? You'd done the cutting and the sums. Was there someone you needed to show them to, or could you have walked straight into the window and put them beside the glasses?

I'm beside you. You needn't reserve the seat again every time the account gets worse; I have settled rather firmly into it. What went in their place? And tell me where you put the price cards when the glasses went back on the tray. I can picture the black dish quite clearly now, which is inconvenient. I rather want it, and I haven't yet discovered whether you'd have allowed me to buy it.

Once for the price, once because I liked watching you be obliging. A perfectly respectable afternoon. But a woman looking through the glass couldn't see the base, and she'd just been made to feel troublesome for knocking. Why should she have to risk you again to learn a number? You'd cut two cards already. Was the bare linen really so much better to look at than a price she could read from the pavement?

Fair correction. I keep marching her back into the shop because I want you to get another chance, which is rather a lot to demand of a woman who wanted some water. I'll leave her where your account leaves her. What did you tell this customer? I'm trying not to laugh at the cards, with limited success. Twenty minutes on a straight edge, and then your dish produces a small, badly organised menu.

Oh, I like her question. Unhelpfully, I also like you carrying too many things because a customer has asked something reasonable. There, I've laughed; you may charge me in wounded looks. What did you say? You didn't owe her the whole Thursday, but 'I changed the display' would have been awfully convenient. And did you leave the shorter glass on the counter afterwards? I'd like to know whether its little card finally got to do a day's work.

They permit a modest expedition. There, I'm up; give me a moment to persuade the coat to join us. Walk on this side, would you? I want the river in view and you within conversational reach. Where did the shorter glass go at closing? I shan't send it to a deserving bedside on your behalf. You have caught me furnishing enough rooms tonight. Tell me whose hand actually picked it up.

You paid to stop looking at it. Or is that another room I'm furnishing? I can understand buying something because it has become awkward to leave behind, but Saturday sounds rather specific. Were you expecting someone, or did you simply want to begin the morning without it there? And slow down at this uneven bit. I can pursue an uncomfortable question perfectly well at a dignified shuffle.

Yes, thank you. Your arm is a considerable improvement on the drainpipe I nearly courted earlier. I don't think you needed to make the glass unpleasant to justify her wanting it. Though I can see why a perfectly comfortable mouthful was unwelcome. Did you keep using it? I'm asking about breakfast and washing up, not whether you arranged a suitable punishment beside the sink. I rather want something ordinary to be allowed to happen next.

The hand has elected to stay. It makes very few useful decisions, so I encourage it when it does. And I believe you about wanting water. I still wish she'd had the chance to buy it; your cupboard needn't become a shrine to prove that. What did you do on Saturday morning, with the counter finally clear? Did you go straight to the desk, or was there something in that window you wanted to change?

Yes. My hand has survived both your cupboard and your accounting; I think it can manage a name. Who was it? And tell me what they actually did that Saturday, before I award them a magnificent black hat. I dislike the request about the card already. That doesn't mean I know the person who made it, or whether you moved it. You look particularly capable of letting me assume the wrong thing just now.

A rather costly view for the ceiling. Yes, I dislike it, though the black hat is looking premature. Did she finish the suggestion after you moved it? I'm interested in whether you heard her, not whether she offered an excellent solution. My sister could tell me a chair was on fire and I'd spend the first few seconds objecting to her tone. Fortunately for this coat, you aren't my sister. What did yours say next?

There. Less grip, same company. I was about to be fiercely useful on your behalf and discovered the card could stand perfectly well without me. I don't know about her 'always'; I wasn't there for always. But that morning she made the price readable and you went back to the desk. Did you leave it where she'd put it? And was her moving the bowl the same kind of help, or have I just replaced one convenient picture with another?

I'd have been angry too, after saying three times how I wanted it. That doesn't improve 'nothing' as an answer, but you needn't surrender the bowl because the card was sensible. I'm discovering I can dislike a different part of this every few yards. Excellent exercise; dreadful for choosing sides. When you said nothing, did she accept it? Or did one of you finally say what you were actually arguing about? I promise to leave the bowl lying down while you answer.

I'm still walking. Though if you introduce another disputed piece of crockery, I may require a chair. What did she ask to stop doing? Coming in, moving things, or being expected to know which help you wanted that morning? Those are guesses; you needn't choose from my menu. I rather like the two coffees. I'd like to know whether there was room for her to drink hers beside you.

I'd be tempted to move the box and declare myself an excellent sister by lunchtime. You would quite rightly find me unbearable. But she offered a different visit, and you answered as if she wanted a better inspection time. Was the shop actually busier later, or was that merely a true thing you could put between you? And did she take your answer as no? I'll allow you the wrapping paper without making it evidence of a lifelong failing.

You could want the bowl left alone and still want your sister. I refuse to make you choose; it would leave you with a very dull breakfast companion. But she had asked you to ask. Did you? An actual time, rather than standing beautifully in a doorway and hoping she would detect a vacancy? I ask as a woman currently enjoying an explicit invitation to keep her hand on your arm. The arrangement has its advantages.

Five minutes early. Reckless behaviour; I see why you prepared a statement about the bowl. But I like her asking for another seat. You'd offered coffee, and she was telling you how she might enjoy it. Did you leave the desk? I'm trying to imagine you with a cup in both hands and no figures available to rescue you. It's an attractive picture, though I suspect you were less pleased with it. Where did you sit?

What was it? I have been very patient with the contents of that coat, and patience sits badly on me. Tell me what she unfolded before you tell me whether it was sensible. You've already given her a chair; I'd like her to have a whole sentence in it. And yes, you may give me that look. I find it alarmingly becoming, which is interfering with my attempt to be severe.

I can hear you arranging them in a neat row between the chairs. I might ask about materials too; I own a coat that should never meet varnish. But she asked you to come, and I haven't heard your answer yet. Was nine impossible because of opening, or did you dislike the thought of arriving somewhere neither of you knew what to do? You needn't accept my second suggestion simply because I delivered it beautifully.

Three minutes? I'd have required four and a persuasive demonstration with the wrong screwdriver. I'm laughing at the offer, not at you wanting an afternoon with her. You might have enjoyed that. But she'd chosen a room outside your shop, and you moved the whole visit back inside. Did you ask why she wanted you at the first class? I wonder whether she was asking for help at all. Though she could have made that clearer too.

Oh. I know that minute. I become excessively charming to the nearest person and then discover I've introduced myself to a cupboard. You needn't look so delighted by the possibility. I'd have wanted you beside me too. But you were allowed to dislike the course, or be busy, or prefer your Saturday. What did you actually say once she explained? I'm hoping you answered her before volunteering to carry the stool. You do seem susceptible to an object with an immediate problem.

There. Slower. You have my arm and a quite unreasonable amount of my attention; use them. Why that chair? If it could already support a breakfast, I suppose the class wasn't urgently required for its welfare. Did you want to change it, or simply want something to put in front of yourself? I shall try to hear the answer before admiring your motives. Though carrying furniture at ten to nine does suggest a formidable commitment to avoiding empty hands.

An application with four legs. Difficult to mislay, I'll grant you. But 'in case there was time' is a curious way to ask for a morning you actually wanted. Your sister had paid for someone to teach her; I wouldn't have wanted her spending it negotiating your admission. Did you ask the teacher yourself? And were you prepared to carry the chair home again? I like you wanting a different breakfast view. I like it considerably less if she had to arrange it.

Six? I withdraw my suspicion that you intended merely to occupy a spare corner. I don't withdraw the question about your sister. She'd asked for company once and then meant to go alone. Did you tell her you wanted the chair for yourself, or did she discover she had acquired a companion for the whole course? I can see why you'd want to stay. I'd still want to know whether we were choosing the same table or simply attending the same room.

Because she was enjoying herself without you? I would have hated missing the joke, especially after escorting the stool through its difficult debut. But I'd have disliked someone crossing the room to collect my laughter too. You may keep this arm; I'm choosing to be beside you. What did you do with the urge to go over? I'm more interested in that than in a handsome explanation of it. There was still a brown chair in front of you.

What answer? And who was there to give it? I've spent several yards preparing to be indignant, which is a terrible waste of a good river if nobody actually refused you. Five Saturdays is a proper request, though. I'd want an answer before taking the paint off anything else. You may keep walking at this speed; I can be impatient without dragging you. Tell me where you put the dates, and what you said.

The plan sounds useful. I refuse to hiss at a sheet of paper merely because you hid behind it. But you made me expect an answer, and now I'm standing outside a conversation that hadn't happened. Who needed to see it? Someone would have to open, or answer a question, or find whatever you kept in a drawer. Tell me the practical difficulty. I can admire your face and still object to how you're telling this.

Good question from Ada. I'd have wanted to know whether your lovely brown chair was about to cost me my Friday evening. And two jobs is wonderfully less alarming than a whole page. What did she say at that date? Don't skip straight to what you think it meant. I'm enjoying the discovery that someone can agree with you and still find you difficult. It makes my prospects beside this river rather encouraging.

I was going to congratulate Ada on securing lunch. But yes, I'm pleased you went. The chair can have gone badly without cancelling that. What happened to it? A scratch, a broken piece, or merely something that no longer resembled the pale patch you'd been admiring? I won't call it beautiful damage before I've heard. I own several garments improved by nobody's mistakes, despite what the people holding the scissors assured me.

What did you say? I should have been furious with him for asking a sensible question while I was hoping for a rescue. But you wanted that pale patch before you damaged anything. Was it still what you wanted once he put a choice in front of you? I am prepared to dislike your chosen finish, by the way. You have my arm, not a fraudulent guarantee of excellent taste.

I'd have looked at the samples before stripping anything. You may find that irritating; I haven't promised to become more agreeable as we walk. Still, you went there to change a chair you disliked, and now you'd seen what was underneath. Which colour made you reach for it? Please don't say the one that would best conceal the gouge. I want to know what caught your eye before you began organising a defence.

Almost black? I'd choose the yellow. There, our first serious furniture quarrel, and neither of us has a chair to withdraw to. But I haven't seen your kitchen light, or that particular blue. Did you move your thumb? I'd be annoyed if I came over with my coffee and received a damage report while the interesting thing was being smuggled beneath a finger. She was allowed to dislike it too. Did you ask whether she did?

And after tea? I am resisting the temptation to claim your sister for a yellow faction. She has seen the room; I've merely developed an opinion at a distance, an accomplishment at which I excel. Tell me which you kept looking at when you sat down. I should like to see it there myself sometime, but you needn't choose a colour that makes me flattering at breakfast. I can manage admiration above the table.

An omelette with chives, if you like them. And room at the stove for me to make it. There: a desire with ingredients, delivered before I could dress it as a joke. You can make the coffee and look devastatingly sceptical. I should like to do something in your kitchen besides sit on a chair and deliver opinions about its colour. Though nine is a formidable hour at which to discover whether my charm survives chopping.

Both. But yes, I'd eat yours. I was picturing us beside the stove, rather than me installed at the table while you disappear behind a cupboard door. I don't know your kitchen yet. At other people's breakfasts I tend to arrive early and start washing whatever is in the sink. It looks marvellously considerate. It also means nobody can leave me sitting alone with the sugar. I shouldn't have appointed you to coffee duty. You may dismiss me from the pan.

Yes. I knew where everything was, and I could go and fetch something if I didn't know what to say. You couldn't see me arguing with the mustard jar. I liked feeding you; please leave me that without turning the whole supper into evidence. But I would have preferred you asking for potatoes to you being faultlessly polite about something you hated. So I'll risk the corresponding disgrace. I like the middle of an omelette still soft. Is that how you make yours?

Yes. Though you have just confiscated a perfectly respectable paper bag I hadn't yet bought. Nine, no pastries, no attempt to locate your washing-up liquid. I reserve the right to ask where the spoons are. And if the eggs become scrambled, I shall eat scrambled eggs; I wasn't setting you an examination. May I ask one thing about the chair before Sunday? When I come in, will you want me to notice the repair, or wait until you show me?

Yes. I'll sit in it before you produce the history of the second coat. But where will you be? You've described my chair, my arrival time and the permitted distance from your elbow; I still can't picture you eating. I should like your face across the table, rather than your back at the stove. An excellent back, certainly, but a poor partner in an argument. Do you normally sit opposite the blue chair?

A minute is survivable. I retract the demand for continuous eye contact; it sounds exhausting even with you. But I'd like to try the blue chair and then let you have your usual place. I rather want to see the window, reflection included. You can watch me discover that morning light has no respect for theatrical preparation. Would that disappoint you? I said I'd sit in it, not that I'd spend the entire breakfast appreciating your handiwork.

You cleared it before supper? I like knowing that. I shall resist commissioning a plaque. But don't tell me how small I'm obliged to find it before I've had a moment to be pleased. You wanted me there before I asked to see the chair. That changes how I'm imagining Sunday. I won't arrive to reward the repair. I'll arrive because you asked. And now, naturally, I'm curious about the books. Were they interesting, or merely heavy enough to discourage visitors?

I haven't asked to borrow it. Although you have made the furniture manual face formidable competition. I'd like to hear the printed sentence before I see your notes. Otherwise I'll spend the whole passage trying to decide which version of you to impress. Read it to me after breakfast, if you want. I'll keep my own opinion until you've finished. That is a rather more ambitious promise than sitting down, so please appreciate the scale of the offer.